Sparkage
by elgatoneun
Summary: Chloe and Whitney ... so happy together.
1. Interlude

Title:  Sparkage (1/?)

Author:  elgatoneun

Rating:  PG-13 

Pairing:  Chloe/Whitney

Summary:  A Chloe and Whitney interlude

Disclaimer:  These characters do not belong to me, at all.

Spoilers:  Everything up to Kinetic

Feedback:  Would be appreciated

Notes:  This fic starts out a little into the future, summer time at what would be the end of the first season.  I would like to make this a series that flashes back and forth between the present show timeline and summer hiatus time to show how they get together.  Please let me know if you think I should continue.

It was one of those lazy summer days … a perfect lemonade day.  Cool, sunny, sweet and tangy all at once.  Mm, she was so comfortable.  All days should be like this.  She was stretched out, lying under the leafy shade of a large oak tree.  Her back was propped up against a long, lean body.  Her head resting perfectly against a smooth, muscular chest with which she was very familiar.  Long athletic legs propped up on either side of her as she lounged in the vee between them.  

She tossed her reading material to the side and closed her eyes.  She could drift off to sleep right here, perfectly content with life, with everything.  

She felt a slight brush against her cheek.  Still keeping her eyes closed, she brushed at it with the back of her right hand.  Damn flies.  Then she felt another ticklish sensation ride along the bridge of her nose.  Her eyes opened to focus on a stalk of golden wheat being brandished playfully by a large callused hand.  She swatted at it.

"Don't do that," she mumbled grumpily.  She heard the low chuckle of laughter emanating from her tormentor.  

"Now, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I let you slack off on doing your assignment?" a hint of laughter still evident in the masculine voice.

"You'd be a great one.  Perfect in all aspects, now leave me alone," she burrowed a little more into her human pillow.  

"Well, yes, I am perfect.  I'm so glad you recognize that.  I love smart women.  That's why I decided to go out with you, you know."  She grinned, he's so impossible and conceited sometimes.  And so cute.  

"Mm hm," sometimes it was best just to play along with indecipherable murmurs.  

"But, I'm sorry, what would your editor say?  His young protégé procrastinating, wasting valuable time?  I insist you finish proofreading that section."  

"It's just the classifieds, I'll do it later.  Let me go to sleep."  Her eyelids drifted down again.  This time she felt the spiky soft tip of wheat trail deliciously down her left arm.  She reached over and smacked the offending hand hard.  She smiled when she heard him yelp.  

"You are a mean woman, Chloe Sullivan," said her chastened boyfriend in an aggrieved tone.

"Well, that's because some doofus won't let me get my naptime in." 

"But I don't want you to sleep, I want you to be awake," he whined slightly.      

Chloe could imagine the pout on his face.  He was such a little boy sometimes.  It would be annoying if it weren't also so endearing.  She's such a sucker.  

"Well, then why don't you make it worth my while to stay awake?"  She turned her body so that she faced him.  She was still amazed sometimes at how much he meant to her.  She loved his deep-set blue eyes.  She poked a finger at the cleft in his chin and brushed a lock of sandy hair off his forehead.  He smiled impishly and made a move to bite her finger.  She snatched her hand away unscathed.

"What can I say?  I like the way you taste." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.  

Chloe laughed.  She would never have imagined Whitney Fordman to be such a clown.  He was a far cry from the morose, intense jock of a few months ago. 

She gazed contemplatively at his full lower lip.  She moved forward and licked at the seam between Whitney's lips with the tip of her tongue.  He immediately opened his mouth to capture hers in a kiss.  She teasingly moved out of reach.  Whitney grunted.

"Like I said before, you are a mean, mean woman, Chloe Sullivan."  She giggled again.  

Whitney pounced.  Suddenly, Chloe was trapped in a warm embrace, strong arms holding her close.  She felt Whitney nuzzling the side of her neck with the tip of his nose.

"Whitney, now how is this supposed to help me get my work done?" she asked in a mock severe tone.  His only response was to nip her lightly on the sensitive tendon of her neck.  She shivered.  Chloe could feel his smile against her skin.  He was so smug sometimes.  

Her momentary pique immediately dissipated when she felt a warm tongue flicker against her pulse points.

"See, I figure I can work out an incentive program for you," he murmured along her throat.  His voice was husky and low, full of sensual promise.  Chloe's whole body felt flushed and tingly.

He spoke while he pressed butterfly kisses that started at her collarbone and trailed upwards.  

"Every time (kiss) you (kiss) finish (kiss) a page (kiss), I'll (kiss) reward you (kiss) like (kiss) this (kiss)," he finished with a gentle bite to her earlobe.  Chloe's heart was beating just a tad faster than before.  

"Why should I work when you're, um, already rewarding me?" Chloe had just enough control left over her brain to be irritated at her breathless, reedy reply.  

"That was just a sample – okay, I can see that you're going to be tough to convince."  Whitney heaved an exaggerated sigh.  He gently turned her face and tilted her chin up with his forefinger.  He moved his head towards hers, slowly.  He kept moving until his lips were a hair's breadth from hers and paused.  He separated his lips slightly and blew softly on hers.  The caress of air on her lips was gentle but filled her with the overwhelming need to have his lips on hers.  God, Whitney was the biggest tease on the planet!  Chloe was just about to grab Whitney by the ears when … finally … the kiss.

His mouth moved firmly over hers; tenderly coaxing her lips to part.  He slipped his tongue into her mouth.  Her brain melted away.  Pleasure filled her body and overrode all mental capability.  She was focused solely on the physical connection between her and Whitney.

He pulled away reluctantly.  They were both panting, drawing in deep rasping breaths, recovering from euphoric sensory overload partially generated by oxygen deprivation.  

"So … you better start … editing, Miss Sullivan," Whitney got out between breaths.  

"No, I want more kisses," Chloe pouted.  She poked her lower lip out a little more for effect.  She could see the physical effort on Whitney's part to stand firm against her coy manipulation.

"Chloe, you know you have to do this.  It's going to drive you crazy if you don't finish it before the party tonight, and then you won't be able to have any fun because you'll be worrying about it all night."  Whitney concluded reasonably.  Damnit, he was right.  It was aggravating and sweet to see how well he knew her.

"Okay, slave driver," she scowled.  He was right – but she didn't have to like it.  

Whitney leaned back against the tree and pulled her gently back against him, resuming their original position.  As Chloe turned, she made sure to dig her elbow into his stomach a little.  

She heard an "oomph" followed by what sounded like "mean" muttered behind her.  She grinned.  Served him right for getting her all hot and flustered.        

She reached for the papers she had thrown aside earlier and began reading.  God, how many hay and feed places were there in this town?  And no one needed that many kittens.  If she had to read about one more twenty-year old tractor in mint condition, she would have to scream.  Not for the first she wondered why she didn't take Lex Luthor up on this offer for an internship at the Inquisitor this summer.  Okay, she knew, and the reason was lying right underneath her, she really was a sap.  Mm, but a happy sap.

Who would have thought, Chloe Sullivan and Whitney Fordman?  Definitely one for the Wall of Weird.  She thought back to the first time she and Whitney talked, really talked … and had to laugh.  Nope, never in a million years.  

"What's so funny?" 

"Hm, oh, I was just thinking about that time in the hospital, when I broke my arm."

"Yeah?  Physical injury's always been a laugh riot for me, too."  Ah, sarcasm, who knew Whitney had such a talent for it?  Chloe's inordinately pleased, it was definitely one of the things she appreciated.  Verbal sparkage, oh, and the other type of sparkage was nice, too.

"I was just remembering the conversation we had."  Chloe answered.

"Oh, you mean the one where you overwhelmed me with your wit and charm?  I don't know what made me fall for you more, the aspersions on my manhood or the insults to my questionable intellect.  You definitely know how to sweep a guy off his feet."  Whitney held a strand of her hair near his face.  He gave it a gentle yank.

"Ouch!  Stop that.  Well I got you, didn't I?"  Chloe said, a bit smug.  She felt his arms around her again, and a light squeeze.  

Then a whisper in her ear, the words satisfied … happy, "Yeah, you did."

She melted again.  Damn it.  


	2. Battle

Title:  Sparkage (2/?)

Author:  elgatoneun

Rating:  PG-13 

Pairing:  Chloe/Whitney

Summary:  Whitney and Chloe talk at the hospital

Disclaimer:  These characters do not belong to me, at all.

Spoilers:  Everything up to and including Kinetic

Feedback:  Would be appreciated

Notes:  This scene is the day Chloe and Whitney spoke at the hospital, referred to in part 1 of this series.  This takes place during Kinetic, right after Whitney is saved from getting flattened in the warehouse and during Chloe's stay in the hospital after her fall.

Chloe Sullivan padded softly down the hospital corridor, ducking into an unoccupied room when one of the ER nurses passed by.  Tyrants, every last one of them, she fumed.  Oh, they looked harmless enough, with their crisp white uniforms, their sensible shoes and those fake sympathetic smiles.  

The rumbling in her stomach brought her attention back to the purpose at hand.  She had to focus; failure was not an option.  She slid stealthily along the dull green wall.  The smell of industrial strength disinfectant warred with the sour stench of urine and sickness.  The disinfectant was never strong enough to overcome those odors.  

She did not like hospitals and she especially did not like having to stay in one.  Chloe hated confinement of any kind and to be held prisoner in that sterile suffocating little room was unbearable.  She didn't have the temperament necessary to be a good, or even a tolerable, patient.  She hated the nurses and they hated her.  Battle lines had been drawn, and Chloe was on the losing side.  Not a good place to be.  She would swear that she had been kept weak and malnourished on purpose.  She was forced into a diet regimen sure to keep patients docile and meek.  It was a subtle tactic designed to reinforce the power structure of this bastion of mini-Napoleons disguised in scrubs with plastic name badges and wielding those stupid clipboards.  

Chloe was sure she'd read or heard somewhere that hospitals were notorious for the poor nutritional content of their meals.  That the typical hospital meal was woefully inadequate to promote patient health.  It had to have been an expose on "60 Minutes" or something.  It was a conspiracy, and her reporter instincts were going off like crazy.  She considered the evidence.  Little or no sugar, salt or caffeine.  They were definitely trying to kill her.  

She even had the evidence sitting back in her little cell – tough, tasteless, inedible Jell-O.  That was the last straw.  She loved Jell-O; loved to pop the wiggly little cubes of happiness one at a time into her mouth.  She would squish it against the back of her teeth, repeatedly, until it dissolved into warm sweet syrup and then swallow it in one delicious gulp.  She had looked forward to lime green Jell-O.  She had eaten what she could of the chicken, but had quickly discarded it in favor of her sweet cool dessert.  She had taken her first bite and had to spit it out, horrified.  The people here were truly evil. 

She had to concentrate on her mission.  Only then could she regain some of her momentum, regroup and go back into battle.  She resolutely moved forward.  

Finally, she saw it.  Her objective was in range.  Vending machines.  Change jingled in the pocket of her plaid pajama pants.  Her mouth watered at the thought of hot, bitter coffee and gooey chocolate covered caramel.  She hurriedly jammed the quarters into the machine and punched in her selection.  Chloe waited in anticipation, ready to rip off the foil wrapping in one smooth motion … when nothing came out of the machine.  Evil, evil, evil!  She rattled and pounded on the machine as best as she could with her one good arm.  Nothing.             

Chloe plopped down dejectedly onto the lumpy waiting room couch and wondered where her knight in shining armor was when she truly needed him.  Stupid Clark, stupid Pete, stupid white flowers from Lex Luthor.  Men were so stupid when it came to things like that.  Not a single one had brought her anything useful.  Even her dad had only brought her clothes and her toothbrush.  No computer, no books, no chocolate, no coffee.  Worthless, they were totally worthless.  Well, maybe not totally worthless.  Pete had brought her laptop after she had pleaded with him.  And he had hooked her up to the Internet, until Nurse Williams had caught her and confiscated the equipment.  

And Clark had been so cute, so worried about her, and those sad handpicked flowers had been so sweet.  She had fantasized.  Clark saw her lying in the hospital, near death's door, and finally realized he had feelings for her, took her into his arms and declared his undying love for her.  God, she must be getting delusional from the hunger.  She shook off the stupid dream and plotted on how to dismantle the vending machine.  

Then she caught it; a whiff of brown sugar and vanilla tantalized her senses.  She turned her head and saw the Tupperware container first.  Full of cookies.  Then she looked up to bless her savior, the benevolent angel who had answered her prayers – and saw Whitney Fordman.  God was a comedian. 

She swallowed the caustic comment she would normally bestow on the leader of Smallville High's jockstraps.  She tried for a pleasant smile.  Whitney looked at her warily, like a mongoose regarding a snake.  She looked at his face.  Wow, he looked like crap.

"You look like crap."  Oops, damn it.  She saw Whitney visibly relax.

"Hey, Sullivan.  Nice to know the fall didn't hurt your mouth."  He approached her a bit cautiously.  Chloe had to fight to keep from jumping up and grabbing the cookies out of his hands.  

"So what are you doing here?  Aren't visiting hours over?"  Chloe knew Whitney's dad was in the hospital.  Had spoken with him yesterday as a matter of fact.  Prisoners had to stick together in order to survive.  Okay, that was a little melodramatic.  

"Um, I had to (mumble, murfle, mumble)"

"What was that?"  Chloe still tried to keep up the pleasant façade.  Articulate, damn it.  

"I had to stay overnight for observation," Whitney stated belligerently.

"Oh?" normally Chloe would pry, but cookies, cookies were calling to her.

"Um, so what have you got there, Whitney?"  She tried for an air of nonchalance.  

"Oh, these, it's just a care package from Lana."  She waited expectantly for him to offer some.  And waited.  Not too bright are you, Whitney?

"Chocolate chip?"  She thought she could hear a note of desperation creep into her voice.  

Whitney smiled at her.  Hunger must really be affecting her, because, damn, Whitney Fordman was gorgeous.  

"They're my favorite, dark chocolate chip with praline pecans.  Nobody else likes them.  Lana makes them special just for me.  Want some?"  Whitney held a cookie out to her, smiling at her, taunting her.

"Thanks."  Chloe snatched the cookie out of his hand, brought it close to her face and inhaled its heavenly aroma.  Then she took a bite.  Bittersweet chocolate mingled with the taste of crunchy sweet pecans and chewy sugary cookie.  It was the best cookie she had ever had.  She wolfed the remainder of it down and licked her fingers.  She looked at Whitney pointedly and then at the cookies.  The look was clear; it was a demand not a request.

He handed them over.  

Chloe quickly devoured two more.  She vaguely processed that Whitney had gotten up and moved out of range of her peripheral vision.  But, she had finally found sustenance and nothing was going to distract her.  One thing she had to admit, Lana could bake.  If she supplied cookies like this, it was no wonder guys were so obsessed with her.  Well, besides her looks, sweet personality, popularity, and everything else that made up the perfect Lana Lang package, Chloe thought sourly.     

Denim clad legs moved in front of her eyes.  Whitney sat down in front of her with two cups in his hand, two cups of hot brewed coffee.  Chloe gazed up at him eagerly.  

"This is an offering in good faith.  I'm hoping to negotiate the release of some of the hostages."  Whitney glanced meaningfully at the cookie container.  

"Well," Chloe had to stop a moment to finish chewing, "I suppose we could do that, but I want some of my demands met."  Whitney took a sip of his coffee and grimaced.  He made a 'How can you drink this crap?' face.  Ooh, goody, the coffee was strong and bitter just how she liked it.

"They are my favorite, you know."  Whitney gave her a small half smile that probably would have made the entire cheerleading squad breakout in cartwheels and back flips.  Chloe steeled herself against the Fordman charm.  She hated it when she was susceptible to lower life forms.

"Okay, you can have one, but you have to answer some questions . . . truthfully."  

"Sure."  Whitney liberated two cookies from the plastic container and handed her the other cup of coffee.      

Chloe took small sips of her coffee.  She let him eat the cookies before swooping in.  A tiny part of her was amazed that Whitney was being so nice.  She had swiped his cookies, after all.  She's amazed that she gets away with all the stuff that she does.  The boys in Smallville were too polite.  Nobody dared to rein in her audacious behavior.  The boys she had known in Metropolis would have called her on her shit a long time ago, of course they had never tried to suck out all of her body heat or threw her out of windows either.  There were always trade-offs, she mused.

"Okay, seriously, what is so special about Lana?"  Whitney barely had a chance to open his mouth when Chloe continued, shushing him with a hand gesture.

"I know she's beautiful and she's extremely nice, but what is it about her exactly that makes the guys in this town think she walks on water?" she finished impatiently, well almost finished.

"She's reasonably intelligent, I guess, and she's not stuck up or anything, you know, considering.  She's practically perfect."  Chloe wrinkled her nose in disgust and continued, "Although, she never could get my coffee order correct, you wouldn't believe the God awful stuff she used to give me.  She should be banned from ever touching another coffeepot."  A moment of silence followed.

"Well?" prodded Chloe impatiently.

"Oh, I'm allowed to speak now?"  Whitney answered with fake obsequiousness.  Chloe glared at him.

"Well, admittedly, the lack of skill in preparing hot beverages weighs heavily on my mind, but she's kind of quiet, doesn't give me any lip and she's decent looking.  She used to be the head cheerleader so that gave her some bonus points, but you're right.  I should probably have dumped her a long time ago."  Chloe winced at the sardonic tone.

"Okay, I'm sorry, I was out of line, but . . ." she bit her lip.  "I don't mean to be such a … what is it about her?"  Her voice trembled a little.  She hated when she sounded weak.

"If you're asking what other guys see in her," Chloe refused to register the pitying glance from Whitney, "I don't know.  But she's special to me, she makes me feel … like a man, I guess."  The look he gave her was enigmatic.

"She makes you feel like a man?" she repeated dumbly.  What the hell does that … oh.  A sly grin appeared on Chloe's face.  Wow, Lana, you go, girl!  Chloe ran an appraising glance over Whitney's body.

"So, she makes you feel like a man."  Chloe couldn't help it; she leered a bit.  Whitney actually blushed.

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Sullivan.  I mean, she lets me open car doors for her, she's there to watch all my games, she lets me order, she bakes me cookies, she lets me protect her …" he trailed off and shrugged at her again.  

"Oh, so she plays the weak, submissive little girlfriend and that makes you feel manly?"  Chloe had a dangerous sparkle in her eye.  If Whitney had known her better, he would have immediately retreated to safety.  As it was some sixth sense, or maybe it was some old survival instinct, kicked in and he moved away from her slightly.  Chloe advanced.

"You, the reigning all-American football hero, have to have some pretty little thing fall all over you so that you can feel like a man?  You have to protect her?  That's the most pathetic thing I've heard.  Newsflash, ball boy, real men don't need some helpless female hanging around them telling them how great they are, because they already are REAL MEN."

"Thanks for the tip, Sullivan, did you get that insight from your vast experience with guys?  Yeah, I can see how they're all just lining up for you.  Gotta beat them off with a stick, huh?"  Chloe recoiled at the palpable hit.  A tiny corner of her heart shrank at the ugly words.

"Well, my experience with men is a little inadequate.  It doesn't include washed up athletes so desperate to re-live their former glory days that they inject themselves with who knows what in order to commit a felony.  Gee, maybe you can tell me why some guy would be so idiotic and try to throw his life away?  Is it insecurity or stupidity?"  Whitney looked livid.  He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out.  Chloe felt a grim measure of satisfaction until Whitney locked his gaze with hers.  He looked tired and defeated.  

"Maybe both." He answered wearily.  She felt ashamed and confused by his honesty.

"I'm sorry."  They both said it at the same time.    

"Want a cookie?"  She smiled ruefully at him and held out the Tupperware.  He smiled back and accepted the peace offering.  They ate in silence until the last cookie was gone.


	3. Games

Title:  Sparkage (3/?)

Author:  elgatoneun

Rating:  PG-13 

Pairing:  Chloe/Whitney

Summary:  Whitney and Chloe get ready for the party

Disclaimer:  These characters do not belong to me, at all.

Spoilers:  Everything for the first season

Feedback:  Would be appreciated

Notes:  We are back to summer, after the season finale.  This chapter starts later the same day as the 1st chapter and several months after the 2nd chapter.  All of the chapters flashback in this manner.  Please let me know if this format is confusing.

"You can lock the doors now, Jared."  Whitney gave the orders to the rest of the staff to begin clean up.  Hopefully the walk throughs wouldn't take too long.  He started in the sports equipment section.  He picked some mitts and balls off of the floor.  Those Granger kids always made a mess; he smiled remembering how his dad used to yell at him and his friends for doing the same thing.  He started rearranging the aluminum bats.  

He definitely preferred wooden bats to aluminum ones; his hand automatically went to his side.  His side had hurt for a week as a result of Chloe's enthusiastic attempt at softball.  He made a mental note never to get her angry when she had anything in her hand that could conceivably be used as a weapon.  

He made sure his area was presentable and finished up closing procedures.  Whitney was happy that it was almost time for the party.  He patted his jacket pocket, reassured by the feel of the rectangular velvet lined box he had put in there this afternoon.  Eight weeks.  Eight weeks with Chloe.  He couldn't believe how much his life, how much he had changed.  Everything in his life was now segregated into Before Chloe and After Chloe.  

There had been so many things going on in his life, a lot of it terrible, and when he looked back, it seemed that most of his bright moments had been with her.  Even when she had been annoying and pissing him off, he only remembered that she made him feel alive.  All the times she told him to get off his ass and do something instead of wallowing in misery.  Or the time she had worn that sexy red tank top and flirted non-stop making him so incredibly horny.  Even those times when they were doing nothing but hanging out, talking about nothing, or about everything, like this afternoon.      

"We're finished now, Mr. Fordman, … Mr. Fordman?  Whitney?  Hello?"  A hand was waving in front of his face.

"Oh, sorry, Krista," Whitney took a look around the store.  "It looks okay.  Go ahead, thanks for staying late."  He watched his employees leave.  Wow, his employees.  It was weird thinking about them like that.  But it was the truth, at least for now.  He wondered if his dad had ever felt weird ordering people around.  Whitney couldn't suppress a grin.  Hah, not likely.  If there was one thing that his dad had been good at, it was telling people what to do.  His dad had been born a leader.  Jack Fordman had no doubts about how things should work and no qualms about telling people what to do to accomplish it.  It was one of the traits that Whitney had most admired and also frustrated him about his dad.  Whitney missed him more than he ever thought he would.  Before the illness, Whitney could have said that he loved his dad, in sort of a benign, negligent way.  Jack Fordman had been a man's man.  He was a tough, no nonsense, overbearing man who was respected and feared in the community.  He was also a hard-working, responsible, decent man who cared for his family, even if he couldn't relate to them.

But after, when he had gotten sick.  That man had vanished.  And in his place was a flawed soft human being.  It had shaken Whitney up.  He had never seen his father so vulnerable and insecure.  He wanted to shout at him, tell him to go away and bring his real father back.  His dad was strong, fearless … not weak and sick.  

Whitney was ashamed of his behavior but after he had analyzed it (with Chloe, of course, that girl always had a million theories), he realized that his father's change in behavior was what made the illness real for him.  Whitney had been in denial, trying to cope with the fact that his father, his foundation, his role model, really was going away.  But luckily, he had faced up to it.  He would have never been able to forgive himself had he not had those last few days with his father.  The things they talked about.  That was when he had gotten glimpses of Jack Fordman, the man, not just his dad.  He had spoken to Whitney about his own hopes, his dreams and his regrets.  Whitney would have been sorry beyond measure if he hadn't gotten to know his father.  

Every now and then, he heard little anecdotes about his dad from a co-worker or customer that surprised him.  It was another illuminating discovery about the kind of man that his father had been.  It was funny to realize that he had actually missed his dad more when he was growing up; back then he never really knew his dad.

Whitney sighed.  He missed his dad, but the pain wasn't as sharp as before.  It was a trite expression but it was true, time really did heal all wounds.  He put the day's receipts into the safe and twirled the lock.  All done.  Time to go home and get ready.  

He walked out into the unseasonably cool summer air.  It was a perfect evening, not windy, but balmy and clear.  It wasn't dusk yet; the sky was still purple and orangish pink.  He approached his car, a dark blue Dodge Neon.  Chloe had fallen down laughing the first time he went to pick her up in it.  That had not been a particularly good day.  He scowled, unacceptable insurance risk, my ass.  Was it really his fault that his trucks were destroyed by acts of God?  He couldn't control the weather, tornados were a part of life in Kansas, hadn't they ever seen "Wizard of Oz"?  Of course, that didn't explain how the hell his first truck had gotten perched on top of that tower o'cars at Homecoming, or the explosion the next day, the dents to the hood provided by Clark Kent falling on top of the next one and the ditch at Williams Grove that had totaled his last one.  

Trucks were just not meant to be a part of his life, he thought mournfully.  He got into the car and started the drive to his house.  He looked at some of the improvements to the storefronts on Main Street.  The tornado in May had done a lot of damage.  Luckily, most of it had been fixable.  The cost of the renovations had been substantial, and with the announcement of the Luthor plant closing down, a large exodus out of Smallville could have been the disastrous result.  Luckily, Chloe (she was never far from his thoughts) hadn't given up.  He was constantly amazed at the things she could accomplish with her indomitable will.  Her idea along with the support of Lex Luthor and a host of others enabled Smallville to flourish after the storm.  It had been a Herculean effort that she had attacked with gusto.  

Whitney turned off Main Street into his neighborhood.  He honestly couldn't remember the rest of the drive, he had only been thinking of Chloe.  Jesus, he had to get himself together.  He parked the car and went into the house to shower and change.

Half an hour later he was inside Chloe's house waiting for her to come down.  Chloe's dad was telling him another joke.

"And so the salesman says, 'That's a rhinoceros in a fur coat, sir,'" Whitney looked at Mr. Sullivan expectantly for the tiniest second before he forced himself to chuckle politely.  Chloe's dad laughed uproariously in appreciation of his own wit.  

"Dad, please, stop with the lame jokes," Chloe yelled from the top of the banister.  Whitney turned toward the sound of her voice and awaited her descent down the stairs.

"Honey, you just haven't matured enough to appreciate my sense of humor."    
  
"I don't think anyone has dad," Chloe retorted teasingly.  Chloe finally appeared … dressed to kill … him apparently.  He looked up at Chloe dressed (half-dressed) in a small shiny pink triangle held together only by string; the worst thing was it had no back, it was nothing more than a glorified bikini top.  He saw smooth sun-kissed skin that reminded him of soft succulent peaches.  It was one of those midriff-baring tops.  She also had on black jeans, which sounded harmless enough, but they were those low hip-hugging kind and tight enough to accentuate all her curves.  All this took but a moment to process and he blurted out the first coherent sentence he could form.

"You can't go out like that!"  Luckily, Chloe's dad had shouted almost the same thing so that he wasn't the only one being penetrated by Chloe's patented death glare.  Gulp.  Her scowl only made him aware of how pretty she looked.  She had some type of shimmery eye makeup that made her look exotic and ethereal.

"I mean, it's cold, yeah, really cold, you can't go out like that, you'd freeze to death."  Score one, Fordman.     

Chloe smiled sweetly.  

"That's why I'm taking my jacket."  Slam dunk, Chloe Sullivan.

"Sweetheart, Whitney's right, I don't think that's going to be warm enough."  Assist by Gabe Sullivan.

"Besides, that outfit is too revealing, it gives boys the wrong idea, right Whitney?"  Chloe's dad turned to him for confirmation.  It's a wide pass from the older Sullivan to Whitney. 

"Oh, so I can't wear something just because guys can't control themselves, so any girl looking like this is just asking for it?"  Chloe makes a move to intercept, she's blocking the pass.  She had a dangerous gleam in her eye and it was throwing out warning signals to his brain.  Danger, danger Will Robinson!  He couldn't tell her that he was barely containing himself from throwing her down and mauling her right there, restrained only by the presence of her parental unit.  But in all honesty she could make him feel like that even if she were wearing a potato sack.

"Uh, no, of course not.  A woman has the right to wear whatever she wants, it's her body."  Whitney parroted miserably, eyes downcast, guiltily avoiding Gabe Sullivan's gaze.  And the quarterback fumbles.  Game over.  Total victory by Chloe Sullivan.  Damn, she had him so crazy; he was mixing sport's metaphors.  

Chloe gave him a brilliant smile.  He was a total wuss.  Whipped, completely.  He went to help Chloe on with her jacket, like the gentleman his mother taught him to be.  The temptation of all that bare skin was a little too much and he jerked his gaze to the right, it locked unerringly with Mr. Sullivan's.  He gave Whitney a sympathetic look that seemed to say "I've been where you've been, buddy," it was a sort of fraternal "welcome to the club" male bonding thing.

Chloe gave her dad a kiss on the cheek as she cheerily said, "Don't wait up, dad."

Whitney promptly replied, "I'll have her home by 1am, sir," dutifully adhering to the agreed upon curfew set weeks ago.

Chloe sashayed her way to the car, thoroughly pleased with herself, it seemed.  He opened the car door for her and caught a whiff of her perfume.  It was cool and citrusy, totally refreshing, just like her.

When he got into the car, he finally pulled her to him and kissed her long and hard.  He let her go when he began to feel light-headed.  

"What was that for?"  Chloe laughingly asked.  She was flushed and lovely, her eyes sparkled in the dark interior of the car.

"Just, the next time you wear something like that, warn me first.  I think I might have gone into shock." 

"Really?"  Oh, naughty, naughty Chloe was giving him the eye.   Not good.  Shit, he never did have much self-control.  He kissed her again, on her lips, on the hollow of her throat.  His right hand was supporting the back of her neck.  She playfully bit his earlobe.  He returned the favor and started giving her little love bites on the side of her neck and shoulder.  He had never been so physically affectionate but he loved to do this.  Whitney could have sworn he was addicted to the taste of Chloe.  He wondered if there was a twelve-step program for it.  He felt her vaguely pushing him away.  Hm, that wasn't in the script.  She pushed him again hard enough for him to stop.  He looked at her questioningly and realized that there was a tapping sound.  Chloe pointed behind him.

With a feeling of dread, Whitney turned around and looked right into the stern visage of Chloe's dad peering at him through the car window.  Shit.  He lowered the car window.  

"Sir?" he tried to imbue the word with as much humility and deference as he could.  Uh, sorry for groping your daughter, I'm not really a pervert or anything.  Whitney didn't think he could say that out loud.

"You forgot Pete's present on the coffee table, Chloe," he gave a Whitney a pointed glance.  

"I think you two should leave for the party now, you don't want to be late."  Whitney always thought Gabe Sullivan was an amiable man who would be almost impossible to upset.  He was wrong, not about the amiable part, but he was definitely upset.  He hoped Chloe's dad didn't own a gun, he wasn't too hopeful on his chances.

"Uh, yes, sir, we'll be leaving right now."  Whitney hurriedly started the car.  

When they were only a block away from her house, she burst out laughing.    

"It's not funny, Chloe," he said oppressively.  She only laughed harder.  

"If I were your dad, I'd lock you up and throw away the key, and then I'd go and hunt me down."  She kept on laughing.  He glared at her, annoyed.           

"Oh, come on, Whitney …" he didn't look at her.  

"Whitney … " she wheedled coaxingly.  Okay, so it was a little funny.  But he didn't want to give her the satisfaction, give her an inch and she would take a mile.  

"Is that a little smile?  Whitney … " he forced his mouth down into a frown.

"Not one word, Sullivan, until we get to the party.  I am concentrating on the road."  He said pompously.  She giggled again and patted his leg.

"Sure thing, babycakes," she said saucily.  She was totally impossible.  She was aggravating, annoying and … completely adorable.

He looked over at her fondly.  She couldn't suppress a triumphant teasing grin.

"Not one word, Sullivan."  She beamed at him.

She was completely exasperating … and completely his.          


End file.
